


Perspective

by vilnolin



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-10
Updated: 2010-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:58:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vilnolin/pseuds/vilnolin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days really, really suck. And then, some days, there's a big surprise, a blessing in disguise.<br/>Written for the Prompt 'When the World We Knew, Died', at raising hellions</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Angel. original characters belong to me.  
> reformat/edit: 22.7.14

There were some days when you just didn’t want to get out of bed. And judging from the past four months ( _technically three months, two weeks and a handful of days, if he wanted to be completely accurate_ ), today was going to be another one of those days.  
            He really hated those weakling children ( _traitors-rats-snakes-AWOL-sneaks-betrayers_ ) for escaping the only home they had ever known and saddling  _him_  with a hitherto unheard of stay in Pys-Ops for Simplification and Reindoctrination. The pain he could do without but it went numb after a while, so it wasn’t the worst part.  _That_  was the image on the screen behind the laser, interspersed with the rest of the twelve escapees.   
            X5-493.  
            Oh, if he ever got his hands on that twin of his, the ( _not as good-looking_ ) clone would find his neck good and snapped if he so much as  _blinked_  without leave. How dare he tarnish his perfect record with this—this—he didn’t even have a word for this, and he was already working on his high school diploma!   
            494 sighed, and rolled over in the tight, tiny bunk he shared with the rest of the units stuck in Psy-Ops. The unit that had escaped had thrown a lot of promising careers in the toilet. Here they were, going to waste and rot in a Psy-Ops dormitory at the ripe age of eleven. It was criminal.  
            He had heard the entire story about why on that gloomy, February evening those twelve (and a thirteenth the next day) had escaped; 453’s twin had come down with the shakes. 600’s twin (one of two to get harsher treatments then him) had led them to freedom. One of their unit had chickened out. She was being Reindoctrinated almost continuously. 494 almost felt sorry for her as he was carried out at the end of his daily sessions. Almost. After all, it was partially her fault he was in here.  
            494 didn’t miss his unit; he vaguely remembered their designations and faces. It took him longer to forget their names, but, in time, they took that too. He couldn’t remember if  _he_  had a name anymore, so they must have taken that first.  What he missed was being outside, running drills, doing what he did best; being a soldier. 494 was a good soldier. He shot the best in his old unit, and ran the fastest. He even outscored his division ( _which had included that AWOL unit_ , he noted with a smug smile) on every test.  
            The smile faded after a moment. There  _were_  no more tests. No more shooting ranges, no more obstacle courses, no more fugitive hunts. There was just that laser and that screen. Reindoctrination and Simplification. Every day. For  _four months_. Feeling petty, 494 kicked the top of his bunk, ignoring the muffled grunt from 600, who was bunked above him. It was all 599’s fault. And 493’s. If 493 had just stayed put like a good soldier,  _he_  wouldn’t be in this situation. Still feeling frustrated, 494 aimed another kick at 600’s bunk.  
            “Stop it!” 600 hissed, barely peering over the rail.  
            494 glowered at him. And then he paused. “What are you doing up?”  
            600 gave an aggravated sigh. “You kicked my bunk! Now shut up, you’re gonna get us double Re-Doc today!”  
            “No,” 494 said, sitting up. “It’s past wake-up. Something’s wrong.” Before 600 could protest, 494 had slid out of his bunk, and was padding to the door, as silent as he could be. He could feel the eyes of the twenty or so other ‘at risk’ units watching him, worried he was going to get them in trouble. He had no intention of getting  _anyone_  extra reindoctrination.  
            He pressed his ear to the door, listening as hard as he could. “The power’s out. The computers are down. I’ve been working since it happened, but I can’t get anything back online! The X5’s are probably awake already, we’re going to have to do something with them-” That was the lab-tech’s voice, a panicky man who always sounded overly caffeinated. He grated on 494’s nerves a lot, especially when he tried to talk to him while strapping him down for the procedure. The strain in his voice was somewhat gratifying.  
            “You’ve had six hours.”  _That_  was Colonel Lydecker. If he was here, it was time to head back to the bunk.  He turned as quiet as he could, and snuck back. Six hours, their wake up was at 0600. Something happened around midnight. Something that crashed the computers and the power too, since they hadn’t turned the lights on. He settled down in his bunk, ignoring 600’s hisses, and smiling to himself.  
            The door creaked open; it was an eerie sound, like out of a horror movie he had snuck in on an away mission with his former unit. He decided he liked the snap-hiss of the door opening when the power was on much better. He didn’t need to scent the air to know it was Lydecker standing in the doorway. “X5Rs, attention!”  As one, 494 and the rest of the X5s slated for Reindoctrination leapt from their bunks and stood at attention. Lydecker strode down the line, examining them. 494 knew that he wouldn’t find a single thing out of place; they had much more on the line then they did before.  Seemingly satisfied, he turned and strode back the other way. “A terrorist organization has struck the United States. Their nuclear device set off an electromagnetic pulse that fried this compound’s computers and severely damaged our electrical systems. They are most likely to be damaged for several days.” 494 couldn’t help the little flicker of hope at the Colonel’s pronouncement, even as he continued. “You are to report to the field and are to train as a separate unit. Your designations have been altered to reflect your reindoctrinated status, and your unit is only on a temporary release.” Lydecker took a breath. “Mark this day, and mark it well. These are the things you’re going to be fighting one day, that you’re going to be  _stopping_  one day.” He turned on his heel.  
            “Sir.” It was out before he could stop himself. The entire unit was staring at him in abject horror, but all 494 could do was swallow and pretend like he completely meant to speak without permission.  
            Lydecker’s eyes on him made him  _very_  uncomfortable. “Yes, X5R-494?”  
            Hearing his designation with the added letter felt like a failure, but he forced it not to show. “You said to mark today. What is today?” It had been nagging him for a while; he had lost a real sense of the exact date somewhere when they were lasering his memory away.  
            To his surprise, Lydecker gave him a rare smile. “June first, 494.” And with that, he continued his walk out. The entire unit gave a sigh of relief. 600 smacked him in the back of the head.  
            To most of the world, June 1, 2009, was a horrible day, a day when the whole world broke.  
            To a group of eleven year old transgenics, it was a respite from the tortures of Manticore; a day of freedom. It’s all perspective.


End file.
